Runaway
by EffieAgo
Summary: Teenage Peter runs away and things don't go as planned. For anyone.


Yondu Udonta has a headache. Actually, he reminds himself, he has two headaches. The secondary headache is the one causing pain to pulse at his temples while the original, much harder to deal with headache is the one that stole an M-ship the night before and took off, apparently planning to pull one of their jobs on his own. He turns to glare at the man piloting their ship to the surface of the planet Quill had landed on. His first mate hasn't said much on the trip down but Yondu knows he's thinking about the same Terran-shaped problem.

"You got somethin' to say, Kraglin?"

"It's just… we can't keep doin' this, can we?"

His glower intensifies but he shakes his head slightly. He knows exactly what "this" refers to. "Yeah. 'Spose you're right."

Kraglin's eyebrows shoot up."Whad'ya say?"

"I sure ain't repeating it." But Obfonteri _is_ right. This is the fourth time Quill has done a runner in the last year, though he's never managed to get this far with a ship before. The boy has to be about 15 in Terran years and nobody on the _Eclector_ sees him as a child anymore. And why should they? Kraglin hadn't been much older when he'd joined up. The kind of mishap that could be ignored or brushed aside when the kid was little and scared has far more serious repercussions now. The last three incidents had ended with Yondu dragging the kid back by force, smacking him around a bit, heaping a pile of punishments on him and then just letting things get back to normal. Everything would be all right again for a few months until it happened again. And now Quill'd run off with the M-ship he'd been referring to as "his" for a while now. It's true that he'd been flying it for the last few years and that he'd named it and filled it full of his junk, but why that would mean it actually belonged to him Yondu can't comprehend. Sure, this particular incident could probably be covered up as no one but the two of them and Tullk know that Quill had acted without orders, but this level of reckless insolence left unchecked could end up getting them all killed.

"So what d'ya think you're gonna do about it, Cap'n?" But Yondu doesn't answer and they land in silence.

It doesn't take long to find the _Milano_ sloppily parked at the edge of the port. Boy really needs to be more careful. They stop just long enough for Yondu to put a tracker on it. Kraglin watches him without comment and they go on their way toward the city. The job Quill had picked was a pretty straightforward one (lifting some gemstones from the office of a local crime lord with questionable security) so the kid should be done by now. If he's still in one piece that is. His stomach drops at that thought though he knows it's just because he hasn't eaten since yesterday.

It doesn't take long to find Peter either. It's still early in the day but most of the seedy establishments around the spaceport are already open (or never closed). They check a few places with no luck but eventually they end up in a paved outdoor area lined with market stalls. The market isn't open but off to one side a booth surrounded by wooden tables seems to be doing a steady business selling pastries and some kind of foamy beverage. At one of the outermost tables, sitting alone and staring down at the grubby backpack he holds in his hands, is Peter Quill.

"Well, this just ain't smart, boy." Quill looks up and slips the ever-present headphones off his ears but doesn't say anything. He doesn't appear too surprised to see them but he does seem wary like he expects the Yaka arrow to come out. As he should, Yondu reminds himself. Anyone else would already be dead and all three of them know it. But his arrow remains under the folds of his coat as he leans against the table. "What are ya thinking sittin' out here in the open after doing a job?" He grins and then adds, "That is if you actually managed it."

"Of course I did! It wasn't even that hard, you big jerk!" Finally, a reaction and a typically Quill one at that.

"No one give you any trouble?" He asks, eyeing the gun on Quill's belt. It doesn't look like he's been in a fight.

"Nah, there were some guards who came at the end, but I don't think they got a good look at me." Peter is back to being hesitant, caught off guard by the captain's abnormally calm demeanor.

Yondu nods. Despite going through a few growth spurts Quill is still skinny for the time being. And fast. He makes a good thief even if he can't fit in the kind of small spaces he used to.

"All right then, hand it over." All hints of amusement are gone from Yondu's voice now. The boy scowls but he unzips a pocket on his bag and extracts a small cloth packet. He tosses it across the table and he's not stupid enough to ask about his cut or anything of the sort. That's something anyway. Yondu dumps the contents out and inspects them. Four large purple stones and a handful of small light blue ones. He hands a few of them to Kraglin to examine. Quality looks OK to the naked eye at least. Not bad, kid.

"OK," he says, scooping the stones back into the bag. "That should just about cover it."

"Cover what?"

"The cost of that M-ship you want so bad."

"What? Really?" The sour expression is completely gone. No, it doesn't cover it. It probably doesn't even cover half of it, which should be pretty damn obvious but the kid is clearly choosing not to overthink things. His smile threatens to overtake his entire face. It's enough to cause a surge of an odd and unpleasant sort of feeling. He refuses to give it a name. Whatever it is, he pushes it down.

Yondu glances at his first mate and as usual he can read his expression as easy as print on a screen. It says "How the hell is this dealing with our problem?" and it probably borders on insubordination but he has to admit (at least to himself) that it's a fairly understandable reaction.

He straightens up and turns to Kraglin. "Right, les go." Peter, still looking insufferably pleased, grabs his backpack and stands up a little too quickly nearly tripping over the bench in the process. "Whatcha think you're doin', boy?"

Peter freezes. "You said, "Let's go.""

"Wasn't talkin' to you, was I? Thought you'd decided to go off on your own all independent-like."

The boy just stares at him and Kraglin looks almost as stunned. The two of them resemble a pair of absurd statues. It's almost funny.

"And didn't we just arrange it so you could keep your ship? You should count yourself lucky. I don't have to be helpin' you none."

"But- well- Yondu that's not… uh." Quill looks like he's choking on the words he wants to say.

"That's not what's goin' on then?"

"Um. No? I didn't-"

Yondu takes hold of Quill's collar and forces him to meet his gaze. "Well, then it seems like what we have is you disobeying orders and runnin' off with my property and not for the first time. So I guess you can take me up on my very generous offer or we can deal with this problem the way it shoulda been dealt with in the first place." His voice echos around the small square, which for some reason has significantly fewer patrons than it did when they first arrived.

"Ok. All right. I'll go then, geez! Get your hands off me." Well, at least he still has plenty of fight left in him.

"Leave the jacket."

"What?"

"Cap'n..."

"Shut it, Kraglin. Those are my colors, boy. They stay with me." But Quill has already shed the coat and he shoves it into Yondu's arms without looking at him. He grabs his backpack and turns around and walks quickly toward the other side of the market.

"So Cap'n-" Kraglin looks he's still not exactly sure what just happened.

"I thought I just said-"

"I was just gonna ask what you wanna do now."

"Huh. Well, I could use a drink."

The bartender checks the time and smiles to himself. His shift is almost over. Working at a cafe bar in a crummy port town is not his idea of a great job but today has been pretty OK. There's the normal day-drinking crowd of mostly outsiders and it's been more or less quiet. Sure, there's a pair of Ravagers who showed up some time ago but aside from threatening a drunk who bumped into their table with some kind of flying arrow they haven't caused any trouble. Mostly they've just been drinking and glaring at everything in sight, especially the one who's clearly in charge (something that would be obvious even if the other guy didn't keep calling him "captain").

But then a boy appears at the door. He's clearly underage though that normally wouldn't be a problem. He's scruffy and thin and wearing an ugly, too-big coat so probably a street kid, but that wouldn't be a problem either as long as he has some units to spend. It's the look in his eyes that fills the bartender with dread. It's a kind of self-destructive determination that he's never seen lead to anything good.

Sure enough the kid walks straight up to the flying arrow table.

The bartender doesn't like to get involved with the customers and their issues. It's just safer that way. But he'd also like to not spend the end of his workday cleaning some idiot teenager's blood off the floor so he leans over the bar and points toward the door. "Hey kid, get lost!" The boy doesn't so much as acknowledge it. Well, shit. He tried anyway.

Everyone in the cafe now has their eyes on the boy as he plants his hands on the table. "Are you guys Ravagers?"

The men exchange a look the bartender can't decipher. Finally, it's the younger one who answers. "Yeah, whassit to you?"

"What ship are you on?"

Another pause. "The _Eclector_."

"Never heard of it. Would you say that it's, like, an OK ship?"

That grabs the attention of the captain who whips his head around to really look at the interloper for the first time. "You tryin' to wind me up, boy?"

The stupid kid smiles and shrugs. "It's only a question."

The younger Ravager rolls his eyes. "It's just about the best ship around, kid."

"All right then, I wanna join your crew. I'm Peter Quill, by the way. People call me Star Lord."

How is this brat still breathing?

The captain is standing now, scowling intensely. He whistles and the arrow comes flying to just in front of the boy's forehead.

Well, that took longer than expected.

"And why the hell would we want you?"

"Actually, I'm, uh, good at lots of useful things." The boy takes a step backward but the arrow follows intently.

"Yeah, like what?" It's the skinny Ravager this time.

"Um, I'm a pilot. I can fly all sorts of ships real well."

"Oh, can ya now?" The captain says darkly, red eyes narrowing as if that's actually more of a negative point.

"Uh, and other things! Like thieving! And fighting. Umm, I'm not too bad at scrubbing and stuff." This actually elicits a laugh from the younger guy. The arrow had come to rest on the tabletop but a whistle brings it up close to the potential victim's left ear and it's soon joined by its owner who grabs one of the kid's shoulders.

"You say you wanna be a Ravager, huh? We follow a code. You know about that?"

"Uh, yep, I've heard of it."

"So do you know what it is?" The arrow is spinning lazily above the kid's head now.

"Yes. Uh, no. Well. Kinda, sorta." The arrow is back in the vicinity of the ear.

"First. You obey any and all orders from your captain. That'd be me, got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

The arrow is even closer now. "What'd ya say?"

"Yes, sir! I get it!"

"Right. Next, we don't steal from each other. Ever. And that includes M-ships with stupid Terran names, you understand me, boy?

"That seems weirdly specific. But- hey! I heard you! Totally got that!" There's a whistle and the arrow retreats to its holster and he releases his grip on the boy.

"And third, we don't deal in kids." His fellow Ravager shoots him a look at that one and the boy snorts. "Either of you have anything you wanna say?"

"Err, no, Cap'n."

"Noooo. Nope. That's 100% a no."

The captain glares as the boy starts to sit down. "Why ya gettin' comfortable? We got a ship to get back to." He tosses a dark leather wad of some kind to the kid as he starts toward the door.

The bartender notes that they haven't paid their tab but decides against addressing it.

"'Specially you, rookie. You're on a double shift this sleep cycle. Cleaning duty. You might wanna get a little rest first." He grins, showing off his splendidly crooked teeth.

"What?! Seriously?"

The skinny guy gives the boy a cuff to the back of the head but it looks like he's trying not to laugh. "Quill! What was the cap'n _just_ sayin'?"

"Ow! I mean, yes, Captain." He stops for a moment. "But the _Milano's_ still mine, right?"

"Pete..."

"OK, OK, I'm coming!"


End file.
